I made a cake for my dad's book group, as is customary, and it wasn't until late in the day, long after dropping it off, that I found out the book group had cancelled its in-person meeting - to be fair, they hadn't known that until the afternoon, what with someone coming down with something and everyone else electing not to drive.

It also turns out that my parents had a building party scheduled that same night. One my dad thought he wouldn't go to with the book group, but could attend since the commute would only be from the lobby to the apartment. One where he could bring a cake that I'd happened to have dropped off earlier that day.

The group had been reading Charles Dickens, and I thought an apple ginger spice cake would be fitting to the general vibe of the novel. It turned out to be a set of flavors that were just as fitting for a near-solstice wintertime party.

I'm always happy when something I've baked finds its way to a good home, and I'm even happier when there's a little story to go along with the cake.

I've been teased with snow before, and I'm hoping I won't get teased again tomorrow. It'll be somewhat inconvenient on Sunday, but I've been inconvenienced in such ways before. I can handle it. I know workarounds.

Earlier today, buying fresh eggs, I told someone I'd be using them for cake. "Tis the season," she said. "Cake's always in season," I told her, and got an earnest laugh.

Waiting for the traffic light, listening to the noise around me, I looked down and saw a dog - one that was shaped like an actual dog, with short black fur, a proper nose, bright eyes, and a remarkable amount of patience for being so quiet in the face of all the noise. Cars, trucks, horns, traffic all around, a cement mixer driving by that whined and gave off these weird high-pitched noises as the mixer turned, and I thought that if it was loud for me, it must be unbearable for her. She was very well-trained in leash work and boundaries, and as well-trained and well-adjusted as she was, it made me think: New York City isn't good for her.

She was mostly quiet, except for one point where she made something like a whine mixed with a whimper. I told her, "I don't blame you." But I don't think she heard me what with all the noise around us.

At the next corner, I complimented her behavior on who I thought was her owner; she said she was just the walker, and the dog's name was Kato, and she was impressed at her, too. I didn't ask to pet her, just looked at her, watching a little kid ask if she could pet Kato herself instead. I thought about how her owners needed to commission a walker's services, and how it could be a brief thing due to a family emergency or it could be a standing commitment, and knowing Manhattan, it's likely the latter. It still strikes me as strange to keep an animal like a dog as a pet in a big city, and looking at her today, it feels even stranger. I walked across the park and listened to the sounds of the vehicles and thought about how unpleasant I found it, and how the city isn't designed for auditory comfort. It could be, and it isn't, and it saddened me to think how much worse Kato must have things.